Mad as a Hatter
by Dani Zatara
Summary: A string a brutal murders in Gotham City bears a strikingly scary resemblance to an innocent children's story. Now a wanted man, who can the Dark Knight turn to for help?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Okay, so I'm asking, now that you've clicked here, please read all the way through this chapter and PLEASE review. I want to know if you'd wish me to continue. I also appreciate constructive criticism. Now, I do not own anything from the DC Universe, including Batman, Montoya, the Mad Hatter, or the Joker, who will all make appearances in this story. I do, however, own Val. She is mine. I created her. What do you think of her? This is mostly in Nolan-verse, although a few things may be a little too out-there for that. Enjoy! _

**Mad as a Hatter**

The room was dark, for the most part. The only source of light was a single, vanilla scented candle placed on the floor by the girl's feet. She sat quietly, her legs crossed in the lotus position. The only sound in the room was her deep, steady breathing. She sat facing the door, waiting. She knew he was coming. She had seen it earlier that morning. Her palms moved from their outstretched position in midair to the floor, where they rested open on the cool ceramic. As her fingertips made contact with the tiles, she could feel his footsteps on the stairs. He was taking his time, no doubt wondering how to introduce himself. He certainly wasn't in costume; he would have used the window if he was, though he need not worry about revealing his identity to her. Very suddenly, as if he had made up his mind, the footsteps began to thunder up the last few steps. She folded her hands on her lap and blew out her candle just as he knocked on her door.

"Come in," she said, not bothering to raise her voice. She was perfectly sure he had rather good hearing. She listened as the door creaked open and he stepped inside. He had barely taken two steps into the doorway.

"Good evening," her ears were met with a gruff voice, clearly a disguise.

"Close the door," she instructed, waiting until another two steps had been taken and a second creak signalled obedience to her request.

"Miss Brite?"

"Why do you ask if you already know the answer?" she smirked and moved to stand up. Immediately, she heard him shuffle over to help her and she brushed him away. "If I needed help I wouldn't live alone," she told him with a sharp voice, "And please, call me Val."

"Val," said the gruff voice, his helpful hand releasing her arm, "Can you help me?"

"You haven't even introduced yourself yet," she grinned, "What should I call you?"

"Batman," was the response. Val raised her eyebrows, a grin on her face. She got no answer and figured that now was not a time for humour.

"And what do you need help with?" Val asked, brushing off the legs of her black yoga pants.

"It's difficult to explain," he said.

"Would you care to show me then?" Val reached out and touched his arm, feeling the soft material of an expensive suit. Immediately, the man, whoever he really was, stiffened.

"Montoya warned me about the way you see things," his voice was unsteady, as if he was worried about offending her. She gave a quick, blunt laugh.

"Montoya's the one who sent you here?" There was no response to her question for a moment before the gruff voice delivered a sheepish 'yes'. Val laughed, figuring the Batman had nodded his answer before remembering her predicament.

"How is she?"

"Miserable," the answer was very frank, "She's a drunk."

"And you're going to take advice from a drunk?" Val raised her eyebrows once more.

"She's the only one that'll help me." There was definitely pain behind that raspy voice. Batman needed help. No surprise there; he was a vigilante, wanted in the city he was trying to protect.

"Then why are you here?" Val asked, "Why, if Montoya's the one who's helping you."

"She wants to give up," he answered, "Told me I should come here if I wanted real help." Val was silent for a moment before taking a step toward the Batman, her bare feet barely making a sound as they moved.

"Will you let me see?"

"Can I trust you?"

"What choice do you have?" Val felt the man before her kneel down. She placed her hands on his head, running her fingers through his hair. She slowly lowered herself onto her knees and pressed her forehead against his. Her palms gripped the sides of his head, her cool skin against the beads of his sweat.

Within a moment, she pulled away from him, gasping. Shakily, she stood up, holding out her hand to help the Batman. He did not take it, but she heard him shuffle as his position changed to upright.

"So?" his voice sounded almost upset, as if she had somehow violated him. Val reached a hand out and rested it over his heart, feeling the place where the expensive suit gave way to an equally expensive dress shirt. Again, his body tensed at her touch.

"He likes to be called the Mad Hatter," Val whispered. Slowly, she ran her hand down the breast of his jacket.

"What else did…?"

"And Montoya wasn't kidding," Val interrupted his question, picking a strand of curly dark hair off of his jacket, "She's got a bottle of Vicodin in the cupboard above the bathroom sink…." She twirled the strand of hair around in her fingers, "I'd hurry over there if I were you."

There was silence for a moment, before Val heard the striking of a match against wood and smelled the flame; a scent which had turned to vanilla before the Batman was halfway down the stairs outside her closed door.


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, so I'm a little disappointed with the lack of reviews for the first chapter. Does nobody like this? Please review so that I know I'm not writing in vain. Thanks and enjoy. Also, a bit of a __**WARNING**_: _This story will contain violence, mild language, and some mature themes later on. And now, let's get on with it._

Looking out her window, she saw the city lights spread like wildfire through the night. With a heavy sigh, she closed the blue curtains and moved away from the living room. Even the bright yellows and oranges of a Gotham night somehow seemed bleak. There was no more life in Gotham. The Joker had managed to destroy the spark of livelihood that kept the city running. Even though he ended up in a straightjacket he had won the battle. He had turned Gotham against their defender. And the people had accepted it; accepted the fact that Batman had done such horrible things. Now, when the city needed defending, who would do it? Better question yet; could anything really be done?

She had answered that question in her mind long ago; somewhere between the break-up and being fired from the police force. No, there was nothing that could be done. It was better to do nothing. It was better to just be dead. Dead, she wouldn't have to worry about the newspaper clippings that were piling up on her kitchen table. She wouldn't have to deal with another psycho, another burning building, and another innocent death. It seemed that Gotham was constantly riddled by trauma. Leaving the city wouldn't help her; some images were impossible to forget.

Quietly, even though there was no one else in the house to hear her, she crept to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Staring back at her were tired brown eyes and unkempt black hair. The girl inside the mirror had long since died. It was time for the girl outside the mirror to join her. She reached up and opened the cupboard with frail looking hands. She had lost far too much weight since the break-up. Among the face wash, toothpaste, and feminine products, there was a bottle of pain medication, which seemed to have a magnetic attraction to her fingers, falling into her grasp in only seconds. Frowning, she read the label on the bottle, taking in the warnings that were printed in tiny black letters, too small for anyone to actually care about them.

"Too late for warnings," she muttered, popping the cap off the pills with expertise.

"What about for friends?"

She whipped around at the sound of the deep gravely voice behind her; her heart hammering a mile a minute within her chest. When her eyes fell on Batman her frown grew. She really didn't need him here right now, at her worst moment.

"Why are you here?" she asked, careful not to make eye contact. Just because she wanted to die didn't mean she wouldn't feel guilty about leaving behind those she cared about; even if there were very few people who would miss her.

"The better question is why you are doing this?" he replied, his eyes narrowed behind his mask. The fact of the matter was she had no idea how to reply. At her lack of an answer, he took a step forward, his dark cape billowing by his knees. She stared straight at the floor as he grabbed her shoulders, surprisingly gentle for someone so intimidating. "Listen to me, Renee," his voice was stern and he gave her a slight shake, as if trying to make her see sense, "You need to stick it out."

"Why should I?" Renee felt her eyes fill with hot tears. Her cheeks began to burn as they leaked out. She hadn't cried since she had been fired. That was almost a year ago. In that year, Renee had become distant from everyone, including herself. It wasn't until she had met up with the Batman that Renee had actually started to feel purposeful again. She didn't want to lose her purpose. She wanted to die before she was nothing again. She was afraid.

"Because," was the simple answer. Renee finally looked up, past the mask and into the eyes of her new 'partner'. There was real desperation there, real caring. "You don't want to do this, Renee."

The bottle hit the floor, breaking the dead silence between the two, followed by loud, heartbreaking sobs.


	3. Chapter 3

Val's delicate fingers ran over the keys of the piano, not applying any pressure. She had always wanted to learn the art of music as a child, but had never been given the chance. Still, she kept the piano pressed against the wall of her living room, always dusted and freshly polished, just in case. Sighing, Val took a seat on the bench, the leather cool against her palms. Her encounter with the Batman had been rather tiring. She had not fished through someone's mind in a very long time and the act of doing so was draining. That was not to say she had not found some very interesting facts. Who would have thought that Bruce Wayne was a masked vigilante by night? Of course, Val considered herself one of the good guys. She figured it would take a lot to get Batman's identity out of her mouth. Besides, now that the Joker was in jail, who would want it? At that thought, Val's mind shifted gears. Her focus was now entirely on the strange man whom Bruce had 'shown' her. A short man, with a rather large nose, who enjoyed wearing top hats; a man who wanted to be known as the Mad Hatter; and a man whose plans, Val could not foresee. As if Gotham wasn't already strange enough. Now there was a man running around like a character out of a Lewis Carroll story.

Suddenly, Val's back stiffened and her fingers twitched against the leather. That was the answer. All she had to do was find her copy of that damned story. She jumped up and felt her way across the apartment, stumbling once or twice in the darkness, to her familiar bookshelf. Val knew she had a copy of Alice in Wonderland amongst the hundred or so books that she owned. Starting from the bottom left-hand corner, Val ran her fingers across the spines of the books, her mind processing images of cover pages in rapid succession.

It wasn't until the second shelf that Val found what she had been searching for. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the book from its spot and opened it, the cracking of the spine magnified tenfold in the silence. Truth be told, Val had no idea what she was seeking within the frail and crinkled pages of the story, but nonetheless she ran her fingers up and down the pages, over the bumps, skimming through the tale she knew so well.

"Come on," Val muttered, already more than halfway through the book and still clueless, "There's got to be…" Her voice died in her throat as macabre images flooded through the darkness in her mind. Val's eyes shot open and suddenly, she could see. She wasn't exactly sure where she was, but it was somewhere outside; dark and damp. There was not a sound to be heard aside from Val's own breath. Carefully, she looked around, taking in the full scene around her.

There was a person lying on the floor, no more than three feet away; a girl from the looks of it. Her back was to Val and she wore a long red dress, contrasting her snow white skin and sleek black hair. Val approached her slowly, noticing that she was completely unmoving. It didn't even seem as if she were breathing. That was when Val noticed the blood.

With a gasp, Val ran over to the girl and turned her over. The sight that met her eyes was something that made her stomach turn; something she would never forget. The girl may have been stunningly beautiful, but her beauty was shrouded by her brutal death. There were red roses painted on her cheeks and there was blood; blood everywhere. It covered Val as she screamed, desperate to wake the girl up. However, inside, Val knew this was quite impossible as the girl's heart laid several steps away from her body. The source of the blood was the gaping hole in her chest. With one last scream from Val, everything went black.

The familiar feel of icy ceramic told Val she was back in her own apartment. So did the darkness. Val may have not been able to see anything, but the images of her vision played back in her mind vividly. Trembling, she got to her feet and tried to remember where she had left the telephone. With her legs close to useless, Val staggered over to the sofa and felt around for the cordless. After a moment her fingers had wrapped around the plastic device and she quickly entered the memorized number of her best friend; hoping to whatever god there was that Bruce Wayne had heeded her advice and dropped in for a late-night visit.

_--_

_Okay, so please review! I am getting REALLY discouraged, especially because I love this story. It's very interesting and fun for me to write. Even if you don't like it, please leave a review and let me know how to improve. Thanks…_


	4. Chapter 4

Renee brought the steaming mug of coffee up to her lips with now-steady hands. Silently, she took a long sip, allowing the boiling liquid to run down the back of her throat. She stared over the brim of the mug, at the man sitting across from her at the kitchen table. He was as still as a statue, staring intently back at her with that damned mask still over his eyes. Renee sighed and placed her mug on the table.

"I'm glad Val sent you," she muttered, breaking their eye contact. She never could stare him down.

"What makes you think she sent me?" he replied, his voice disguised. It almost bothered Renee that he didn't feel comfortable enough to reveal his identity to her, no matter how much he insisted it was for her own good.

"You wouldn't have come," she whispered, "If she hadn't told you, you would be at home right now. Am I right?" A large part of Renee wanted him to say no, although she knew he would tell her the truth.

"Yes," he said, confirming her theory. Renee leaned back in her chair, the palms of her hands pressed against the edges of the table. "But that doesn't mean I don't care," the gruff voice finished an earlier thought. Renee smiled softly and opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her cell phone. She pulled the small device out of the pocket of her jeans and looked at the caller ID. Immediately her face fell.

"It's Val," she whispered hoarsely. Val hadn't called her months. What if something terrible had happened? Renee's mind began to run in frantic circles. Her only distraction came when she felt her phone being snatched from her fingers. Renee snapped back to reality to see Batman flip open the mobile and answer with a rough hello.

The few moments that Batman spent on the phone were some of the tensest Renee had remembered experiencing in a long time. After what seemed like forever, she heard the phone snap shut and looked up at the man across the table. He suddenly looked very upset. Quite suddenly, he stood upright and headed to the window. Renee jumped up and followed after him.

"Where are you going?"

"Val needs our help," he replied, beginning to climb past the curtains. Renee felt as though the world was moving too fast for things to be real. Instinctively she reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Aren't you going to take me with you?" she muttered, her thoughts lingering on the dozens of things that could be wrong with Val.

"Hold on tight." And with those words, Renee suddenly felt herself flying through the night sky. And she found herself not liking it one bit.

-----*

Val was pacing. Two steps, turn, two steps; all very routine. And as she paced, Val chewed her lip thoughtfully. The trouble with her sight was that no vision ever came twice. She would never see that poor women ever again. Part of her was grateful, but a larger part wished she had paid more attention to the locale of her vision. Sure, she knew it was dark and damp, but that described more than half of Gotham; hardly useful evidence.

Suddenly, Val was struck with an idea. Maybe she couldn't have the same vision twice, but that didn't mean she couldn't see that same person more than once. All she needed was a trigger. She thought back to her awful vision, thinking of anything that could help her. And then, it hit her. Roses. The girl's face was painted with roses.

Val was out of the apartment just a moment before a dark creature swooped through her window carrying a worn out looking girl.


End file.
